Chapter One

There hadn’t always been dragons in the Valley. Karol hadn’t seen them arrive, of course. They had come the year she was born, some three and twenty years ago. But her father had told her the story many times.

They had come suddenly from the north, their soft leathery wings making no sound, their ragged shadows tossing the towns and villages into a tempest of fear and confusion. Then the singing had begun.

“It was the sweetest sound,” he had said. “Sweeter than a viol. It was like water or wind turned to music. But even so—I can’t explain it, not even now—for all its sweetness, it was horrible. It made me sick. It was like the inside of my ears were twisting up.”

Karol had shivered appreciatively, half hoping, half fearing for the day when she would hear the singing too.

And now that day had come.

Pulling a deep hood over her head, Karol slipped out of the hut and into the moonlight, feeling horribly indecent in her men’s trousers. She went over her plan in her mind for the seventh time.

First, get a sword. Second, escape the compound. Third, get the mushrooms.

It should be easy. It was only three things, after all. But such three things.

I’m insane, she thought, dodging from the shadow of one hut to another. This is it. This is the end.

The strong desire to laugh swept over her. She had to stuff her fingers in her mouth and pinch herself to keep it from bursting out. She crouched behind a crate, trembling. After a few minutes of deep breathing, she had control over herself again. She had to stay calm. Herald was depending on her.

Herald. My son. My poor baby.

She grit her teeth and peered over the edge of the crate. There was the forge. It was a squat brick construction with a fenced yard in the back. That was probably her best way in. The front entrance was always bolted and guarded at night.

Creeping from her hiding place, she soon reached the fence. No rotting or crooked rail was this. It was tall and built of strong, smoothed planks. There were no hand or footholds. That was why Karol had brought her own.

Fishing in her belt pouch, she came out with a handful of bone spikes, each the length of her longest finger. She lifted her knee to measure where the first spike should be placed. Then, taking a spike firmly in her fist, she drove it forcefully into the wood. It stuck nicely an inch or so in. She drove in a second right next to it, then another one farther up the fence. She was just able to reach for a third placement.

She’d tested this method on the side of old Caleb’s barn. It was terrifying, but it was also effective. She gripped a fourth spike between her teeth, took a deep breath through her nose, then sprang at the fence before she had time to think. Her full weight landed on the lowest two spikes and she quickly kicked off of it, scrambling for her other holds. Each one snapped under her weight but gave just enough support for just long enough.

Somehow, she reached the top without using the fourth spike. She tottered, then jumped down on the other side. There was nothing to break her fall. She landed cat-like, letting the shock roll through her without resistance. You couldn’t be stiff when landing. If you were, your legs might snap.

She stood uncertainly and removed the unused spike from her mouth, wondering if anyone had heard all that noise. The forge master kept a sleepy old dog back here, but if it had heard, it had given no sign.

Exhilarated, she darted around the piles of coal and went straight for the back door. She tried it. It was bolted. Thankfully, there was a shuttered window. This was latched on the inside, but that was far easier to handle than a bolt. She pulled out her stone knife and slid it upward in the gap between the shutters. The latch was knocked out of the way and she climbed into the room beyond.

She was not in the true forge, but in one of the back rooms—an office of sorts. The forge itself would be attended by an apprentice, charged with keeping it burning the night through. The air was tangy with smoke and metal.

Karol edged her way around the desk and cracked the door, peering out. The angry forge light made her eyes smart. The apprentice, a boy of perhaps seventeen or eighteen was half dozing on a bench.

Poor fool. He’ll be in big trouble tomorrow.

She slid out silently and ducked into the storage room. This was where outgoing orders were stored. Wooden boxes of all sizes rose in neat stacks. It was too dark to read the labels, so Karol got out her candle and lit it. There weren’t that many swords to choose from—only five or six. The top one looked promising enough. A simple soldier’s sword, according to the label. The third box down, however, captured her attention. It had the baron’s signet on it. It must be for one of his sons. This was the best forge for miles around, and it received important orders.

As quietly as she could, Karol set her candle aside and unstacked the boxes. Using her knife, pried the lid off her prize. It wasn’t hard, as using nails on a packing box such as this would be wasteful. The lid was only held on by wooden pegs.

Inside, nestled amidst the straw, were the sword, sheath, belt, and all. Karol caught her breath. It was beautiful. It was only an arming sword, but what a sword! The handle had no precious stones. The metal spoke for itself, elegant in its simplicity. Hands shaking, she lifted it out and pulled off the worked leather sheath.

Metal. So much metal. A fortune in iron. It shone like glass in the candlelight. She hefted it, admiring the balance. It was a little heavy for a woman, but it would serve her well.

Other compounds didn’t usually train their women in the way of the sword, but Durkmill made a point of it. Mayor Mirkright said that in the case of a dragon attack, every able man or woman should be able to help defend their homes. Karol agreed with him, which was surprising, considering what she thought of his other policies.

Trying not to dwell on the fact that she was stealing, Karol belted on the sword and pressed the lid back on its box. She didn’t bother restacking the other boxes. She wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. She blew out the candle and escaped back to the office. It was awkward to climb out of the window with the sword on her belt, but she managed it. The fence was even trickier, but she didn’t have to use her bone spikes on this side. All the rails and pegs were on this side of the fence, giving her plentiful handholds.

She dropped to the other side, blood pounding in her ears. Step one had been shockingly easy. She’d been in and out in less than twenty minutes. She rested in the fence’s shadow, clutching her weapon, trying to fend off the guilt. She’d give it back as soon as she could. Secretly, of course. Stealing this much metal was a capital offense.

Don’t think about that. Think about Herald.

Time for step two. Sticking to shadows and allies, Karol made her way to the west gate. The compound wall was twenty feet high and eight feet thick with a narrow parapet at the top. It had thick iron warding posts sticking out the top every ten feet or so. Those were to keep the dragons away. Dragons couldn’t stand iron.

The sentries looked skittish tonight. Karol ducked into the shadow of the wall. There, she couldn’t be seen without the sentinel above leaning right over the edge and looking straight down. She huddled close to the gate and tapped the signal: two slow, three fast, a pause, then one tap more. After what felt like forever, the signal was returned and the gate opened.

A gray head popped into sight. “Took you long enough,” it grumbled.

“Sh. Let me through.”

“I want my pay first.”

Karal shouldered past the elderly guardsman, stuffing a money pouch into his hand as she passed. “Thank you, Ezler. Thank you, a thousand times.”

Ezler grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

She turned, frowning. He let her go, grouped at the neck of his jerkin, then gestured for her to put her hand out. She obeyed, dubious. He dropped something heavy into it. A hard pendant on a leathern cord, still warm from its proximity to his skin.

“It’s iron,” he whispered.

“Ezler, I can’t—”

“Just take it. You’ll need it out there. More than you know.”

Karol bit her lip, nodded, and slipped the protective amulet over her head. She pressed his hand, then dashed out into the woods. No cry was raised by the sentries. She had either not been seen, or they just didn’t care if someone was foolhardy enough to leave the compound alone.

Step three.

Karol had left the compound many times in forging parties, each member carrying an iron ingot in their pack. She knew exactly where she was going, even if everything did look so different in the moonlight. The trees loomed, the brush lurked, and stones jumped out in unexpected places. Distances were distorted, creating an extra sense of unreality.

At first, the signs were good. There was little fresh trace of dragon activity. The trees were intact, the brush and bushes undisturbed. But the farther she progressed, the more damaged the forest became. Here was a young tree torn up by the roots, and there was a clear path of crushed undergrowth. No doubt a dragon had landed there.

Sudden panic swept over Karol. What if the mushroom glade had been destroyed? Dragons often dug up large patches of land in their hunting. What would she do if the vermilions were gone? No other medicine could help her boy. The surgeon had been very clear about that. It would take more money than she possessed to order them from another compound, not to mention oceans of paperwork. Even then, Mayor Mirkright could (and probably would) block her order. Vermilions were a powerful drug—illegal in most compounds and under heavy restriction in others.

Don’t worry, she told herself. You’re being irrational. Dragons aren’t known to touch the mushroom glades.

Even so, it was hard to control her worry. You could never tell what a dragon might do. They were…unpredictable.

She struggled onward through the wood for nearly an hour before she found the glade. An orange glimmer through the trees swelled her heart with joy and relief. Here she was, safe and sound. She pulled on her gloves and wound a scarf over her mouth and nose. Once she was satisfied with her precautions, she stepped into the glade.

It was a small clearing. Barely five yards across. But despite its size, it was completely carpeted with the squat, glowing orange bulk of vermilion caps. Some of them were as large as her hand. She waded in amongst the mushrooms, picking the most mature. The drug was milder as well as hardier in these—easier to prepare and easier to keep long term.

She was just pulling the drawstring on her forging bag close when she heard a sound. The sound had actually been going on for some time, but she’d mistaken it for the wind in the branches. She stiffened, then turned very slowly.

There was a dragon on the other side of the clearing.

It wasn’t a particularly large dragon. It was only a little bigger than she was herself. It wasn’t the size that was frightening. It was the stillness. It crouched there, still as stone, but unmistakably alive. Every muscle, every scale spoke of enormous energy.

But worst of all was the sound purring out from the serpentine throat. She’d heard it described so many times, but it was different from everything she’d imagined. It was a wiring, fluting, scraping song. The dragon song. It had a rhythm. A distinguishable tune. It trembled in her ears, pleading, discordant, sweet, and seductive.

Trembling, she grouped for the amulet around her neck and held it fast. The strength of the iron flowed through her. The song sounded less sweet now, and more like the tuneless growling of a wild beast. Her feet no longer seemed rooted to the ground. She tucked the mushrooms away, then whipped out her sword.

The dragon cocked its head to one side and the singing stopped. If Karol hadn’t been so afraid, she might have called the movement cute.

Then, without any warning, the dragon pounced.

Teeth. Claws. Wings. Karol struck desperately at them all.

Why isn’t it afraid of the sword? Why isn’t it afraid of the metal?

The dragon lashed at her with its powerful tail, and Karol was knocked down swordless among the vermilions. Her scarf was slipping, but she didn’t have time to fix it. The dragon’s pointed snout was bearing down on her. Rolling over, she kicked it in the mouth. It whimpered, then started singing again.

The intoxication of the song washed over Karol. She tried to fight it, but the dragon was so close the spell was overwhelming. She couldn’t move. The crushed vermilions were sending up their potent smell, and the confusion of the drug added to the dragon’s power over her.

Herald. I’ve got to get back to Herald.

She looked around dreamily for her sword. There it was, shining in the fiery light of the mushrooms. She tried to crawl forward, but her body wasn’t responding to her commands.

She was lying down again. How had that happened?

The dragon was leaning over her. Its yellow eyes were so beautiful.

Too bad that it’s going to eat me, she thought placidly.

She closed her eyes and waited for the first bite to come.

But it didn’t. Instead, the dragon licked her face. The saliva was hot and stung her skin.

“Grfugh!” she said involuntarily.

The dragon purred, then licked her again. Someone had shouted There were voices.

“What did she find?”

“…ho’s that?”

“…going…not pleased…”

Karol heard no more. She had fainted dead away.